


A Perfect Match

by eevilalice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comeplay, Community: hp_kinkfest, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Humor, Kinks, M/M, Masturbation, Mirrors, Rimming, Room of Requirement, Self-cest, Snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:39:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eevilalice/pseuds/eevilalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco can't understand why he's alone. Perhaps it's because no one can love him quite like...he can. Written for hp_kinkfest 2011 on LiveJournal. Note: This is an AU 7th Year, so Draco is 17 (and therefore "underage" by the Archive's definition).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Match

Draco stood before the blank wall where the Room of Requirement should be, lonely and annoyed. He’d been wandering the castle for over an hour now, rolling his eyes at all the cheerful faces, scaring off any beaming twat who dared approach him with a scowl and occasional two-finger salute.

  
Yes, war was over. Yes, he’d had a hand in it, he and his mother having defected at the end of the year previous, his sixth—and most difficult—at Hogwarts. Now everyone was running around like a bunch of Hufflepuff-hearted arseholes, practically humping each others’ legs in their interhouse camaraderie.

  
So why was he still alone? And why had he come back to the place that had been the source of so much anxiety for him?

  
He sighed. He had no idea what he “required.” Pansy would say he was in one of his moods, but what did she know? Stupid cunt. They were all a bunch of cunts and arseholes. Not one of them understood him, and when it came down to it, none of them really _tried._ Maybe he didn’t make it easy, but that was their problem, not his.

  
Unless…what if the problem really _was_ him? The thought had never occurred to Draco before. He paused and contemplated a moment before dismissing the notion as patently ridiculous.

  
The wall continued to confront him with its featurelessness. Well, he could always do with a shag. How would the Room handle that?

  
Grinning, feeling decidedly naughty and, thus, better in general, Draco strode back and forth before the wall three times, concentrating on the need to get his rocks off. He was already half-hard as the door to the Room appeared, his hand sweating as he grasped the knob and pulled, revealing—

  
Himself. Naked.

  
Hard.

  
 _Fully_ hard, and smirking twice as wickedly as Draco ever had in his life, he was sure.

  
“W-whaa—” Draco sputtered. At himself.

  
“I suggest you close the door. This might be awkward to explain,” advised the young-man-who-was-not-Draco-but-looked-j

ust-like-him. In Draco’s voice.

  
“I—” Complete sentences eluded him, but somehow Draco managed to curl his shock-loosened hand back around the knob and pull.

  
“That’s better,” Draco Number Two purred, sidling up to him. “Now let’s fuck.”

  
“What?!” Draco backed up, reaching for where the door had just been; it seemed to have disappeared. In a panic, he flattened himself against the wall and was startled by a set of dangling chains and manacles.

  
The other Draco chuckled. “Going straight for the hard stuff, are we? I like it.”

  
Draco’s heart pounded in his throat, choking him. He stared at his copy, who continued to smile in a decidedly feline manner, calculating yet playful. He’d seen that look before. He’d _worn_ it, practiced it in front of the mirror from the time he was twelve. That look had sold many a lie and seduced many a bedmate.

  
Draco swallowed, acutely aware that despite his panic, his erection had not flagged. Quite the opposite: it pressed insistently and uncomfortably against the front of his trousers, as if reaching toward its like in the boy facing him.

  
Said boy hadn’t failed to notice, eyeing Draco’s crotch and arching one well-groomed brow. “That looks awfully uncomfortable. Wouldn’t you be more at ease,” he paused, reached a hand down to his hard, bare flesh and gave a few languid strokes, “without your clothes? It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen,” he added with a wink, glancing down at himself and groaning as he tugged one last time.

  
Biting his lip, Draco marveled at what—who, whatever—the Room of Requirement had apparently created for him. Physically, he seemed to be an exact copy, a mirror image. Well, no, not a reflection really. Draco realized with a little thrill that he was seeing himself the way others saw him. His hair parted slightly on the left instead of the right, and it was his right brow, not his left, that quirked mischievously as he took a step closer, close enough for his breath to flutter warmly against Draco’s cheek when he whispered, “That door vanished the moment you closed it. Clearly, there’s nothing in this room that somewhere, deep down, you don’t want, and the quicker you acknowledge that the quicker you can get what you _require_ , yes?”

  
Draco gazed into familiar grey eyes, pupils blown huge with desire, and knew his own to be a perfect match. “Kiss me,” he whispered back, a jolt of energy—nervous, erotic—charging up his spine. The other Draco’s lopsided smile grew into a full-on grin that was positively _indecent_ , and Draco braced himself against the wall, still reeling from the absolute perversity of the whole thing. His other self moved in, right hand combing through Draco’s fairly coiffed hair, the left wrapping round his waist and slamming their pelvises together. Draco gasped at both the sharpness of their hipbones digging into one another, and the sensation of their cocks grinding—or, he supposed, his own cock grinding against…itself. Either way, it felt bloody brilliant.

  
Taking advantage as any real Malfoy would, the second Draco plunged his tongue into the wetly gaping cavern of his original’s mouth, sweeping, sliding, and sucking expertly. “Mmm…” Draco moaned appreciatively; he’d always known he was a fantastic snog. The hand in his hair tightened painfully, and his moans grew higher-pitched. _Oh yes._ Not many people knew he liked a little pain with his pleasure.

  
His own arms came up to encircle his copy’s shoulders, hands moving restlessly across his back and down, down, feeling the line of his vertebrae, then back up to trace the protrusions of his shoulder blades, the parts of himself he could never reach. His skin was smooth and soft and without blemish. Huffing a little laugh into his unusual partner’s mouth, he clapped his hands suddenly against his arse and squeezed, circling his hips at the same time. The other Draco broke the kiss and threw his head back with a desperation-laced keen, the sound of which aroused Draco beyond measure. Of course such cries had likely issued from his own throat in the midst or pursuit of passion, but one hardly had presence of mind to pay attention at those times. Now, hearing them, in _his_ voice, yet not coming from his exact person…it _did_ things to him.

  
“Undress me,” he commanded breathlessly, noting the other’s red, swollen lips and how gorgeous he was, well-snogged and flushed, not needing a mirror to know how equally shaggable he must look.

  
“My, my, finally taking charge, I see. Lucky we’re versatile,” the Room’s version of Draco smirked, grasping the bottom of his jumper and yanking it up and off. “Mm, we look so good disheveled. I bet people love messing up our perfect appearance.” Having loosened the knot in Draco’s tie, he lifted it over his head and set to work on the buttons of his crisp, white shirt. He leaned in, nuzzling at his neck, and Draco could smell the citrus spice shampoo he favored. His pulse drummed frantically at various points throughout his body, most obviously his cock, which throbbed mercilessly within the treacherous confines of his trousers as if aware freedom was near.

  
Room-Draco (as Actual-Draco began to think of him) pushed his shirt back from his chest and down his arms, a funny little smile spreading across his face as he brought his hands to Draco’s belt.

  
“What?” Draco couldn’t help but grin in return; he never knew he could be quite so playful.

  
“I almost hate to remove these. See the lovely stains?”

  
Draco looked down at his lap where two distinct wet spots darkened the fabric of his school trousers. Precome. His own and, well, more of his own. Was there no way to think of these things that didn’t push the boundaries of absurdity?

  
A groan refocused his attention on the matter at hand, that matter presently being his other self’s copiously leaking erection, which slid effortlessly and slickly in his grip. “Oh _fuck_. Well, the show must go on,” he rasped, releasing himself and yanking violently at Draco’s belt. Draco grasped the chains behind and gnawed on his lip, nearly warning him to be careful with the fly before reasoning that this Draco would treat his parts just as carefully as he would.

  
Fly undone, Room-Draco shoved trousers and pants to his match’s ankles, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief as his cock sprang free. He kicked his shoes off and stepped out of the garments, then watched bemusedly as his feet were lifted one at a time and socks removed. A trail of warm, wet kisses, nips, and licks once again brought him face-to-identical-face with a prettily mussed, quintessentially saucy Draco.

  
Who _wouldn’t_ want this? Who wouldn’t want him and want to keep him forever?

  
Draco released the chains and took hold of both his own cock and his double’s, simultaneous gasps signaling their shared, pleasured shock. Reveling in the new sensation of touching such familiar flesh on another body, Draco giggled, recognizing every vein and ridge, slippery with the precome that continually drooled from the slit at the head. Without looking, he could feel the slickness of his own hardness glide just as easily through his grasp, and his eyes rolled back.

  
“Let me,” he heard his voice implore thickly. “I know how we like it.”

  
Draco’s hand fell away from himself and was quickly replaced by its mirror. It was like masturbating and receiving a hand job all at once. Not to mention the hand job he was _giving_. This was so fucking obscene. Incestuous, really.

  
As if reading his mind, the other Draco stepped closer, knuckles brushing abdomens as they wanked each other. “I can’t decide if this would be naughtier if we were actually twins,” he chuckled and licked a stripe from Draco’s jawline to his cheekbone. “Though maybe finding ‘yourself’ sooner would have saved you from all those torturous attempts at incest fantasies.”

  
Draco’s eyes shot open, a jolt of panic slicing through his lust-induced euphoria. His free hand rose to clutch at his other self’s shoulder, his head falling forward to rest there.

  
“Now, now,” he was chided. “No reason you can’t keep the other hand busy.” Draco resumed his long, steady strokes with an added swirl of a thumb around the head, smearing the leaking fluid there. “Why wouldn’t I know every last thought and impulse that’s passed through our lovely, deviant mind? All those fears you fancied Father or Mum because you couldn’t stop staring at yourself in the mirror. More than staring, wanking.” He gave Draco’s cock a tight squeeze, wringing a strangled groan from him. “And I know you’ve considered Polyjuice,” he continued, grunting as Draco’s hand sped up, “but you’d always know it was someone else wearing your body, some unworthy arsehole who only _thinks_ they know you and would judge you. Well now you can finally have what you’ve always wanted.”

  
With a desperate cry, Draco dug his nails into pale shoulder-flesh and mashed their lips together, arms trapped between until Room-Draco grabbed his wrist and wrenched it aside in order to clutch at Draco’s already tender scalp. Tongues stabbed rhythmically, bellies slimy with precome, and Draco could feel a tightness growing in his sac from the friction of their pricks rubbing together, not to mention the ever-present, ever-escalating depravity of the situation.

  
“Wait!” He shoved the other back, wincing and thrilling a little as some of his hair pulled. “I don’t want to come like this. I want—”

  
“—to fuck me,” Room-Draco supplied, panting and grinning. “Brilliant.” Walking backwards, he crooked a finger, coquettishly gesturing for Draco to follow. His lust-darkened eyes glinted as he turned to crawl onto a bed Draco hadn’t noticed before, either because it hadn’t been there, or he’d been too busy being mindfucked then seduced by another version of himself.

  
Draco eagerly joined his match on the bed, which was pleasantly firm, just the way he liked it, with a set of royal blue sateen sheets that set off their skin, hair, and eyes quite well, he thought.

  
His double slid forward on his chest with a sigh and raised himself up on his knees, spreading his legs generously and angling his hips up. “Go ahead. I bet it looks different from this perspective.”

  
Draco chuckled and felt his perfect partner shiver in delight as he moved up close behind and placed a hand on each creamy arse cheek, still slightly flushed from when he’d smacked and gripped them earlier. With a care that bordered on reverence, he parted them, releasing an unconsciously held breath as he stared at the dusky pink hole, which twitched invitingly under his gaze. Using charms, a mirror, and/or contorting his body in uncomfortable ways, Draco had only ever managed unsatisfactory glimpses before as he’d wanked or fingered himself.

  
This, needless to say, was much, much better.

  
Removing one hand to gather some precome from his weeping shaft, Draco brought his finger back to the delicate tissue and traced its outline before rubbing lightly in concentric circles, the skin warm and, now, pearly under his touch. His other self whimpered and writhed restlessly, and Draco, spotting movement between the splayed legs, sac jostled by a pumping fist, landed a sharp, open-handed blow on the errant Draco’s arse.

  
“No wanking. You’re not coming yet, either,” he warned lowly, amused by both the initial cry of alarm and subsequent mewl of protest.

  
“Just…hurry up. Please. _Fuck!_ ”

  
Draco’s cock jumped. Oh did he sound good begging for it. If only he didn’t _hate_ begging most people. But himself? Not a problem, apparently.

  
“You little slut. I’ll give you what you want…if you’re good.” This was too fun. There wasn’t an impulse he had to ignore.

  
Room-Draco moaned and fisted the sheets, raising his hips even higher. “Yesss,” he hissed. Practically a bitch in heat.

  
Truthfully, Draco was afraid his other self would disappear the moment one or both of them came. It would be just like the Room to fuck with him like that. This Room _owed_ him, damn it. So he wouldn’t risk it; he’d take his time. Moreover, he wanted to _enjoy_ this likely once in a lifetime experience with…himself, however magically fake he may be; he certainly _felt_ real.

  
And his hot, tight, moist hole felt real enough as Draco gently but firmly pressed first one, then two precome-lubricated fingers inside, the hand on his double’s hip barely enough to keep him steady as he bucked helplessly.

  
“Shh…” Draco soothed, rubbing the sweaty skin at his side. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers a bit before pushing them back in equally as slowly, repeating the motion several times until the other Draco began moving into it, rising on all fours and trying to fuck himself on those long, slender digits. Mesmerized by the way the tight rim clung with each measured thrust and by the clenching of unseen muscles, Draco sped up, a wet, fleshy sound just audible over his partner’s litany of curses and cries.

  
“Oh God, oh fuck,” Draco swore, sliding his fingers out and spreading him wide again, getting a quick peek at the pink, pink lining just inside that ring before diving forward and swiping his tongue across it. The taste was musky, and salty, and so unbelievably dirty that he _had_ to do it again, had to swirl his tongue around then push inside the fluttering entrance as far as he could, the mindless babble reaching his ears urging him on.

  
Fisting his erection a few times to take the edge off (and failing miserably), Draco came up for air, saliva cooling around his mouth and on his chin, startled to find a mirror at the head of the bed reflecting two Dracos back at him.

  
That was definitely new.

  
The other Draco had collapsed back onto his chest, shoulders and face pressed into the luxurious sheets as he huffed and clawed weakly at a nearby pillow. Every inch of skin tingling, body strung taut with arousal, Draco wasted no time lining up the head of his still-slick cock and breaching that mercifully giving but tight, soft hole, pushing steadily until his entire length was buried in nearly unbearable heat.

  
“Ah!” he gasped, throwing his head back, strands of hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. He took a moment to gather himself, fearing that even a nudge would send him crashing into orgasm.

  
So this was what it felt like to take him, he mused, closing his eyes and exhaling through his mouth. Those lucky bastards.

  
Beneath him, Room-Draco groaned, the vibrations of it traveling through Draco’s fingers where they held the narrow hips, and their eyes met in the mirror.

  
“Not afraid of breaking me, are you?” his copy asked wryly.

  
Draco laughed and ran his nails down and back up his pert arse. “Hardly. I know what we can take,” he smirked.

  
“Do you?”

  
Draco recognized the look of challenge; it was the one he gave to other Slytherins, not the likes of Potter. Which is to say it was real. Leaning over his other self’s back, never breaking their twin gaze, he combed a hand through his hair and pulled sharply.

  
“Ow!” he protested, but there was a little moan at the end, and Draco knew better. He couldn’t fool himself, he supposed.

  
“I know what you’re doing,” Draco said directly into his ear, “goading me. Because you know I’ve never asked for it as rough as I’ve fantasized. Well don’t you worry.”

  
“Mm,” the other Draco murmured happily, turning to nuzzle his neck and shifting beneath him; Draco’s cock rubbed inside his channel, and he tightened the hand in his hair reflexively.

  
“Actually,” he continued between licks and nips at Draco’s jugular, “that was a smokescreen…to cover for the fact…that I know you’re worried…you’ll come too soon. Which is perfectly understandable…given the, uh… _situation_.” He smiled sweetly.

  
“That’s awfully considerate,” Draco smirked, releasing his hair and easing back on his knees behind. “But we both know the moment one of us touches your cock you’re going to lose it all over these gorgeous sheets. You just better wait for my say-so.” He smiled at their reflections just as sweetly.

  
Not allowing himself to revel too long in their mutual manipulations—Room-Draco’s smokescreen clearly another smokescreen to make him angry enough to pound his arse within an inch of his life—Draco retook his hold on his partner’s hips and, staring intently at the place where their bodies joined, withdrew his painfully stiff prick until only the head remained lodged inside the tight orifice, then slammed back in.

  
“Ohhh…” one of them moaned, possibly both, before Draco did it again. And again. And again. Harder. Faster.

  
Draco lost track of time, lost track of whose cries and curses and pleas were whose as he pumped away, fixated by the sight of the usually hidden opening gripping his cock so lewdly— _his_ hole and _his_ cock.

  
 _Fuck_ , he was already close. He hoped it had been longer than he thought. At least his other self was mindless in the need to get off, writhing and squealing and babbling beneath him, pushing back into Draco’s thrusts with as much energy as he could muster.

  
Finally, Draco looked in the mirror, which, as he predicted it would be, became his coup de grace. He saw himself, top and bottom, sweaty, flushed, panting, _fucking_ , in a tableau whose perverse novelty had yet to lose its depraved appeal. Room-Draco lay there, nearly boneless, hips held up mostly by Draco, brows drawn together in pained expectation, platinum hair stringy with sweat. His cock hung heavy and dark between his legs, a large wet stain of precome on the sheets below.

  
As Draco looked, his more-than-mirror twin raised his eyes and caught his gaze, pure submission and hunger shining through the grey irises as he plead, “I need it. _Please._ Come inside me, fill me up. Then let me…I want to give it to you.”

  
A hot spike of recognition drove through Draco low in his belly, and before he knew it he was coming in ferociously long, hot spurts deep inside his double’s channel, hands grasping his hips with bruising force as he rode out the waves of climax for half a dozen thrusts, his come further coating the passage and already beginning to leak from his hole as Draco withdrew sloppily and collapsed sideways onto the bed.

  
Room-Draco fell in a heap next to him, and Draco rolled him over onto his back. “Do it,” he said, with no further explanation.

  
With a grateful sigh, his other self gripped his neglected cock and fisted it, one, two, three times before arching sharply and crying out his orgasm, jets of come shooting across his chest and face and over his head.

  
Beside him, amazed and happy that the Room had _not_ taken its creation away, Draco groaned and ran a finger through a pool of milky ejaculate, swirling it around his perfect companion’s nipple. For his part, Room-Draco smiled lazily and reached over to gently fondle Draco’s spent cock and emptied sac. “Been saving it up for someone special?” he snarked.

  
They shared a laugh, but Draco was intent on an implied promise he’d been given. He ran a hand down his lover’s slender, slick body, stroking his thigh lovingly before tugging it up and out. He watched as a bit of come dribbled out of his abused hole and shuddered with renewed arousal.

  
“I want it,” he said, looking his other self in the eye with a kind of vulnerable sincerity he wasn’t sure he’d ever shown anyone else.

  
Nodding, Room-Draco got to his knees with a little grunt of effort, awkwardly clenching his arse cheeks and straddling Draco’s chest high up, facing the mirror. Draco’s heart thumped like a massive drum; he was already half-hard again. He reached up and re-positioned his match’s hips so that his arse hovered over his neck and face and closed his eyes, waiting. Four heartbeats later, he felt the first hot gobs of come splash onto his chin and lips, and by the time they were through, the other Draco groaning his pleasure above—likely at the sight they made in the mirror—his entire face and neck were dripping.

  
The mattress dipped, and Draco felt a warm tongue delicately lick at his eyelids, clearing them. He opened his eyes and looked into the same pair, playful once again as he leaned in for a kiss. Draco wrapped his arms around the familiar frame and let the other control things, delighted to feel a matching, renewed erection pressed against his thigh.

  
“Mm,” Room-Draco hummed, lapping at his cheek and sharing the come with him. He repeated the process, licking, sucking, then kissing, until Draco’s face was wet but clean. “You dirty little whore,” he said fondly. “Once we’ve fully recovered, I think I’m going to have to fuck you. Then you’ll know what’s it’s like to take your cock.”

  
Draco’s breath caught; he didn’t think it would take long to “recover.” “And it would be a shame to let those manacles go to waste,” he reasoned.

  
“Indeed,” Room-Draco smirked. “Oops, I missed a spot,” he added before bringing his lips to Draco’s neck. Draco arched back to allow him access and glanced in the mirror, grinning broadly.

  
“You hit the mirror,” he snickered. “Guess you were saving it up for someone special, too.”

  
His other self pressed against him affectionately. “Only one person _I_ was waiting for.”

  
And Draco knew that, after leaving the Room of Requirement, even if he never got “Draco” back, he’d never feel lonely again. Because now he truly understood that the problem _wasn’t_ and never had been him; it was everyone else.  



End file.
